


The Wand

by Bittodeath



Series: I KILLED SIRIUS BLACK [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (we can assume he will), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Gen, Sirius Black Lives, Slytherin's Locket, Tears, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Wizengamot, wand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-24 00:59:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16170350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittodeath/pseuds/Bittodeath
Summary: What if, in theOrder of the Phoenix, Dumbledore hadn't intervened at Harry's trial ? What if... Harry was found guilty ?





	The Wand

**Author's Note:**

> Some passages are directly taken from _Order of the Phoenix_ and _Deathly Hallows_.
> 
> Also, I love Regulus Black dearly (if you hadn't realized yet).

Harry gasped; he could not help himself. The large dungeon he had entered was horribly familiar. He had not only seen it before, he had been here before: This was the place he had visited inside Dumbledore’s Pensieve, the place where he had watched the Lestranges sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban. 

The walls were made of dark stone, dimly lit by torches. Empty benches rose on either side of him, but ahead, in the highest benches of all, were many shadowy figures. They had been talking in low voices, but as the heavy door swung closed behind Harry an ominous silence fell. 

A cold male voice rang across the courtroom. 

“You’re late.”   
“Sorry,” said Harry nervously. “I-I didn’t know the time had changed.”   
“That is not the Wizengamot’s fault,” said the voice. “An owl was sent to you this morning. Take your seat.” 

Harry dropped his gaze to the chair in the center of the room, the arms of which were covered in chains. He had seen those chains spring to life and bind whoever sat between them. His footsteps echoed loudly as he walked across the stone floor. When he sat gingerly on the edge of the chair the chains clinked rather threateningly but did not bind him. Feeling rather sick he looked up at the people seated at the bench above. 

There were about fifty of them, all, as far as he could see, wearing plum-colored robes with an elaborately worked silver W on the left-hand side of the chest and all staring down their noses at him, some with very austere expressions, others looks of frank curiosity. 

In the very middle of the front row sat Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. Fudge was a portly man who often sported a lime-green bowler hat, though today he had dispensed with it; he had dispensed too with the indulgent smile he had once worn when he spoke to Harry. A broad, square-jawed witch with very short gray hair sat on Fudge’s left; she wore a monocle and looked forbidding. On Fudge’s right was another witch, but she was sitting so far back on the bench that her face was in shadow. 

“Very well,” said Fudge. “The accused being present — finally — let us begin. Are you ready?” he called down the row.   
“Yes, sir,” said an eager voice Harry knew. Ron’s brother Percy was sitting at the very end of the front bench. Harry looked at Percy, expecting some sign of recognition from him, but none came. Percy’s eyes, behind his horn-rimmed glasses, were fixed on his parchment, a quill poised in his hand.   
“Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August,” said Fudge in a ringing voice, and Percy began taking notes at once, “into offenses committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley.”

He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read, “The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on August the second at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offense under paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under section thirteen of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy.   
“You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?” Fudge said, glaring at Harry over the top of his parchment.   
“Yes,” Harry said.   
“You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?”   
“Yes, but —”   
“And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?” said Fudge.   
“Yes,” said Harry, “but —”   
“Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic outside school while you are under the age of seventeen?”   
“Yes, but —”   
“Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles?”   
“Yes, but —”   
“Fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?   
“Yes,” said Harry angrily, “but I only used it because we were —” 

The witch with the monocle on Fudge’s left cut across him in a booming voice. 

“You produced a fully fledged Patronus?”   
“Yes,” said Harry, “because —”   
“A corporeal Patronus?”   
“A — what?” said Harry.   
“Your Patronus had a clearly defined form? I mean to say, it was more than vapor or smoke?”   
“Yes,” said Harry, feeling both impatient and slightly desperate, “it’s a stag, it’s always a stag.”   
“Always?” boomed Madam Bones. “You have produced a Patronus before now?”   
“Yes,” said Harry, “I’ve been doing it for over a year — ”   
“And you are fifteen years old?”   
“Yes, and —”   
“You learned this at school?”   
“Yes, Professor Lupin taught me in my third year, because of the —”   
“Impressive,” said Madam Bones, staring down at him, “a true Patronus at that age … very impressive indeed.” 

Some of the wizards and witches around her were muttering again; a few nodded, but others were frowning and shaking their heads. 

“It’s not a question of how impressive the magic was,” said Fudge in a testy voice. “In fact, the more impressive the worse it is, I would have thought, given that the boy did it in plain view of a Muggle!” 

Those who had been frowning now murmured in agreement, but it was the sight of Percy’s sanctimonious little nod that goaded Harry into speech. 

“I did it because of the dementors!” he said loudly, before anyone could interrupt him again. 

He had expected more muttering, but the silence that fell seemed to be somehow denser than before. 

“Dementors?” said Madam Bones after a moment, raising her thick eyebrows so that her monocle looked in danger of falling out. “What do you mean, boy?”   
“I mean there were two dementors down that alleyway and they went for me and my cousin!”   
“Ah,” said Fudge again, smirking unpleasantly as he looked around at the Wizengamot, as though inviting them to share the joke. “Yes. Yes, I thought we’d be hearing something like this.”   
“Dementors in Little Whinging?” Madam Bones said in tones of great surprise. “I don’t understand —”   
“Don’t you, Amelia?” said Fudge, still smirking. “Let me explain. He’s been thinking it through and decided dementors would make a very nice little cover story, very nice indeed. Muggles can’t see dementors, can they, boy? Highly convenient, highly convenient … so it’s just your word and no witnesses...”   
“I’m not lying!” said Harry loudly, over another outbreak of muttering from the court. “There were two of them, coming from opposite ends of the alley, everything went dark and cold and my cousin felt them and ran for it —”   
“Enough, enough!” said Fudge with a very supercilious look on his face. “I’m sorry to interrupt what I’m sure would have been a very well-rehearsed story, but this is simply ridiculous! Why would there be Dementors so far from Azkaban? Why would they be in a Muggle town?”

There was something triumphant about his smile, and Harry shivered. He shouldn’t have yelled. Shouldn’t have let himself get so angry. Because now, all the Wizengamot saw was an arrogant boy with powers far superior to normal, who had no respect for law and authority. Not that he had much to begin with, but he knew to respect the Statute of Secrecy. He wasn’t about to become the next Grindelwald – at fifteen!

“I’m not lying”, he repeated, softly. “There were Dementors, coming after me and my cousin. I did the only thing I could to save our skins. As to why, you should know what I’m going to say: Voldemort is back. He already tried to kill me once when I was powerless. He tried a second time, when I was alone and he had his Death Eaters with him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried a third time. Killing me seems to be his new passion of late.”  
“Nonsense, boy!” Fudge cried out. “You-Know-Who is dead and gone, as we all know. What we can all see, however, is that you wilfully broke the law and exposed a Muggle to magic. According to the law, if found guilty, you are to be expelled from Hogwarts and stripped from your wand. You are forbidden from purchasing another wand, and from performing magic on the soil under British Wizarding Law.”

He looked around him, to the nodding wizards and witches around him. Cold sweat ran down his back. This couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. They couldn’t-

“On the charge of producing knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle”, Fudge said. “Those voting guilty?”

A hand rose. And another. And another. Only Susan Bones refrained from raising her hand, her lips pursed disapprovingly. Fudge’s act hadn’t convinced her – but she didn’t need convincing, when the whole Winzengamot was voting Harry guilty. His heart sank, and he thought he might faint.

“Harry James Potter, you were found guilty of the charges that brought you before this court”, Fudge said, looking like it was taking all he had not to smirk. “You are condemned to never use magic again, are expelled from Hogwarts School of Magic and Wizardry, and to have your wand snapped immediately.”  
“No!” Harry roared, and made to rise. Faster than he could move, though, the chains on the chair wrapped themselves around him and tied him securely to the chair. “No”, he said again, weaker. “You’re making a mistake! Please, you’re making a mistake!”  
“Auror Dawlish, please”, Fudge said as the Wizengamot stared.

An Auror, that Harry hadn’t seen because he had been standing in the dark, stepped forward and took his wand from his pocket. Harry’s heart leaped in his throat as he struggled against his bonds, which only tightened in response. In one neat move, Dawlish brought the wooden stick down on his knee, and a horrifying crack ensued. The wand, broken in two, was dropped in Harry’s lap, who felt his eyes water. The bonds receded, leaving him free – free and in pieces. Carefully, he cradled the two parts of his wand to his chest. Then, anger flooded in and he glared up at the Wizengamot, standing up. Magic buzzed around him, and they seemed to feel it.

“You will regret this”, he said darkly. “You will regret driving me away from the magic world once Voldemort takes over.”  
“Is that a threat, Mr. Potter?” a toad-like, pink witch said in a girlish voice. “Because”, she giggled, “it certainly does sound like one.”  
“Only a promise”, Harry retorted, turning his back to them and striding to the exit.

To hell with them. All of them. He burst through the door, sending it banging against the wall and making a pale and apprehensive Mr. Weasley start in surprise.

“Harry?” he said, and then turned pale as the door behind them exploded inwardly, scattering burning wood in the courtroom. “Oh, Harry…” he added, softly, his gaze turning to the broken wand in Harry’s hand.  
“I hate them”, Harry said through gritted teeth, his hands trembling with anger.  
“Come”, Mr. Weasley said, looking dark. “Let’s go back to Grimmauld and take a decision.”  
“What is there to decide?” Harry cried out, feeling his anger swell and swell, a giving no sign to abate.

Mr. Weasley’s mouth was set in a firm, slim line of cold anger and worry, which turned even grimmer when the Wizengamot filed out and Percy passed them without acknowledging them. He gripped Harry’s arm tightly and pulled him to the lifts. The travel back through the Ministry felt like a dream, or a distant memory. Harry couldn’t remember his feet moving, but doors were blown off their hinges as they passed, windows exploding in millions of dangerous little pieces, stacks of scrolls sent flying and chairs blast against the walls – and as the Ministry seemed to fall victim to this furious whirlwind, Mr. Weasley only walked quicker to an Apparition point. Harry’s hands were still trembling, and he didn’t notice the statue of the golden fountain crumbling in the thankfully empty Atrium. He only noticed the sudden emptiness, the weakness that almost made him collapse, his knees buckling. As all gazes turned to him, Mr. Weasley turned on his heel and Apparated them away. To Grimmauld Place.

*

Harry’s mouth felt parched as he walked up the porch to enter Grimmauld, where Hermione, Ron and Sirius were waiting anxiously. He couldn’t face them. Not now that he felt like he’d been skinned alive, when his nerves were raw from the magic he’d used unwittingly. Breaking free from Mr. Weasley’s grasp, he stomped upstairs and locked himself up in the attic. There, finally alone, he gasped for breath, still clutching his snapped wand. Slowly, he collapsed, crumbling to his knees as tears ran down his face. He was being chased from his home, and deprived of one of the best things in his life. And if that hadn’t been enough, it was a delayed death-sentence, what with Voldemort out there, rising to power. Heavy sobs shook his body, but he had exhausted his magic and not even a drawer trembled in his presence.

Lost in his pain, he didn’t hear Sirius calling him from outside the attic, nor did he hear him unlocking it with a quiet _Alohomora_. He only realized his godfather was there when he pulled him against his chest, fingers threading through his hair in a comforting manner. Slowly, his sobs eased down, his eyes burning from the tears shed, and he calmed down enough to stop gasping for some air.

“Alright?” Sirius said softly as he pulled away, and Harry nodded lightly. “What happened?” he asked – Arthur had explained the wand snapping, but he didn’t know anything else, aside from the impressive amount of uncontrolled magic Harry had performed at the Ministry.  
“They snapped my wand”, Harry replied, his voice raw. “I can’t use magic anymore, and I’ve been expelled from Hogwarts. I can’t… I can’t go back home”, he finished, his voice barely a whisper.

Sirius’ heart broke at his words, and he held him tighter, silent. He must have told the others not to bother them, because no one showed up even now that the door was ajar.

“What do you want to do?” he finally asked, because he had to. “Do you want to go back to Privet Drive? We might yet find a solution.”

Harry’s fingers dug into the flesh of his arm, almost painfully so, and he shook his head violently.

“They’ll send me to St. Brutus”, he said. “I can’t, I can’t- I can’t go back to the Dursley, not without my magic, not without my wand.”  
“Your mom’s protection-”  
“No”, Harry replied through gritted teeth. “I’m staying here, no matter what everyone says. I’m staying here, with you. You… You’ll let me, right?”  
“Of course, Harry”, Sirius replied with a tired, sad smile. “I would rather have you here under different circumstances, but my offer still stands, and it’ll be nice not to be alone. We’ll find a solution while the others are away, alright?”

Harry nodded, and wiped his eyes.

“You can stay in my room, if you don’t feel up to face everyone”, the wizard said, helping him up. “No one will bother you there.”

He guided him up to a door bearing his name and opened it: the whole room was in gold and red, Gryffindor colours. There were school books in a corner, and Harry had the urge to study – now that he was forbidden from doing so. Slowly, he laid on the large four-poster bed, and finally set down his wand. The phoenix feather was pointing out, and he’d clutched it so hard there were wood splinters in his palm and fingertips. Luckily, Sirius wasn’t gone yet. He grabbed his hand and observed it, before he opened a drawer and took a metallic box there. Opening it, Harry realized it was an emergency kit.

“I’m not that good at healing magic”, Sirius explained, “so unless you want Molly to take care of these…”

He shook his head and gave his hand to his godfather, who methodically plucked the splinters with a pair of tweezers and dropped them on the ground. Once he’d gotten all of them out, he Vanished them and cast an outstandingly good _Episkey_ on Harry’s hands, healing the small cuts and making him sigh in relief. He hadn’t realized how much pain he was in. Sirius observed him for a moment, and then handed him his wand. It was very thin wand, dark and slightly pliable.

“How did you get it?” Harry asked, suddenly realizing this couldn’t be the same wand Sirius had used during the First Wizarding War – it would have been taken when he was imprisoned.  
“My first wand was snapped when I was shipped off to Azkaban. I bought that one while I was in hiding in Brazil. It’s not as good as an Ollivander wand, but it’s good enough to do what I need.”  
“I can’t go to Brazil to buy a new wand”, Harry complained – still, he took the wand with curiosity and pointed at a stack of books. _“Wingardium Leviosa.”_

The top-most book heavily rose, and not by much. The wand wasn’t adapted to Harry, it resisted him and the young wizard grit his teeth.

“It’s no use”, he said, handing the wand back to Sirius.  
“We’ll find a way”, Sirius promised. He clapped his shoulder firmly. “From one Outcast to another. I’ll teach you everything I know, and no one can say anything now. Just wait and see.”

He gripped his shoulder tightly to convey his support, then left to report back to Ron, Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys. Harry stared up, not even noticing the flourish of Muggle posters – girls in bikinis, mostly – around him, and barely the photos of Sirius at Hogwarts with his father, Remus and Peter. His heart bled at the thought of never going back to Hogwarts. Surly, he turned, closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep – which didn’t take long.

A week passed before he accepted to leave the room. Sirius spent most of his time with him, trying to cheer him up, though it wasn’t very effective. Harry refused to see anyone else, even if it meant he had to share the bed with Sirius instead of sleeping in his own, in the bedroom with Ron. When he decided he’d skulked enough, and had a good idea of what he was going to do now that Sirius had overridden Dumbledore’s orders and told him everything he knew from the Order, he went down to the kitchen for breakfast – dressed with clothes that had belonged to teenage Sirius. He’d had enough of Dudley’s too big shirts and trousers. Privet Drive and its inhabitants was behind him now: he had sent a short letter with Hedwig to let them know he had no intention of coming back.

The clothes he’d borrowed – or rather, that Sirius had gleefully given him, since he couldn’t fit in them anymore anyway – were Muggle. Dark jeans, a printed tee and shirt with rolled sleeves, he felt like, for once, he looked rather dashing. He’d given his hair a good cut, shaving the back and sides of his head but never managing to tame the wild mop on top of his hair – which he wanted to keep anyway, as it hid his scar. His sudden appearance in the kitchen startled everyone, and Sirius smiled as he pulled his chair and plopped down in it, defying anyone to make a comment. Molly smiled, though it looked strained, and she served him breakfast.

“Thank you”, he said, digging in.

He didn’t notice Ginny staring at him with wide eyes, completely stunned by his new appearance. Anytime she’d seen him in Muggle clothing, he’d looked like he was drowning in fabric. Sirius’ clothes complemented him rather nicely – he still needed to fill out the shoulders, though, but the haircut gave him something he hadn’t had before.

“Sirius said you decided to stay here?” Hermione finally said, breaking the silence.  
“Yeah”, he replied. “I’d rather be here than at the Dursleys, or at St. Brutus. It’s safe enough, anyway.”

Molly seemed to disagree, but she only pursed her lips. The idea that Harry wouldn’t be coming back to Hogwarts this year – would be missing out on his education, just because the manipulated Ministry said so, didn’t sit well with her. However, there wasn’t much she could do about it. Even Dumbledore had turned very grave at the news, but he had given no new explanation, and instead agreed that, as the things had turned out, Harry was safer at the Order’s headquarters than at Little Whinging. At least, no one from the Ministry knew where he was now – which meant Voldemort didn’t either.

As vacations went on, Harry settled into a routine, helping to clean the house and studying in Sirius’ bedroom. He would have a bedroom to himself once it was only the two of them, but for now his trunk and things were stored there. Finally, on the final week, the letters arrived. He felt his heart pang as his friends received theirs – as Ron and Hermione discovered they’d been made Prefects, and Molly was overjoyed by the news.

“Mrs. Weasley?” he asked as she bustled about in the kitchen, rattling off everything she had to buy before the start of term.  
“Yes Harry dear?” she said, stopping to look at him, her smile softening as she took in his new appearance – there was a new assurance there, since he’d decided to stay at Grimmauld Place.  
“I was wondering if you could buy school books for me anyway”, he said, “since its books, I should be able to have them… I don’t want to be too far behind everyone.”  
“Of course, Harry, of course”, she said. “I’ll make sure to get you a copy of each.” She paused. “I’m sorry things turned out like this, Harry”, she added. “I know Sirius is teaching you everything he can, but there isn’t much you can do without a wand. If you do find a solution, though, I’ll teach you everything I know. I’m rather good at Healing Spells, it might be a good idea to learn those.”

He smiled back to her.

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. I’ll be sure to let you know as soon as I’ve got a wand.”

He was glad he’d asked – it didn’t feel so weird, when he had books just like the others. He carefully stored them in his trunk, reading through them carefully – but it just wasn’t the same. The morning of September the first was harder, with the usual bustle of departure. He didn’t have to make his trunk, and it had been decided he’d be safer inside than out, so he bid his goodbyes at Grimmauld, with the promise of many letters. Hermione had added she would send him copy of her notes from class, and the assignments – and he wasn’t much of an academic, but he knew now how precious this help was. He’d just have to send her his assignments, so she could read them other and give him a mark. It wouldn’t be the same without him, they’d assured him.

Soon, they were gone and he wasn’t – instead, he was stuck in the most mouldy, dark, depressing house he’d ever set foot in, and he understood how Sirius felt after months in there. Said godfather appeared just as he turned from the door.

“Come, we’re doing my father’s office today”, he said, and Harry knew it would be long and difficult – just so he could take his mind off Hogwarts.

He wasn’t surprised to see that late Orion Black’s office was stuffed with way too many things. They were at it for the whole morning, and weren’t even halfway to have a clean room – still, it was going steadily better, and Sirius’ improved mood did wonders to Harry’s. They managed to laugh together, learning to know each other in real, with the perspective of learning even more as time went on. Around noon, Sirius stretched and declared he was starved. Molly hadn’t come back yet – she had, after all, her own house to take care of – so he set down to cook them something, quickly revealing how much of a poor cook he was. Harry laughed as he nearly burnt the eggs and pushed him away, taking his place and quickly preparing a good, filling meal.

“You _have_ to teach me that”, Sirius declared, and Harry complied.

Once they’d had their fill, they set back to work in the office, finally managing to shove the curtains open to let some light in through the windows covered in grime – and revealing a very large and very old treasure trunk cloaked in an impressive number of spells.

“Wow”, Harry breathed. “What do you think is in there?”  
“Can’t be anything good, knowing my family”, Sirius groaned. “Well, let’s get down to it.”

They gathered books and searched through them to find out how to disable each spell, while Harry wrote down each and every solution. By the end of the day, they had all the counter-spells, and open books spread out all around them. Whatever was in there was incredibly precious, and probably dangerous – they had gathered that much. Sirius stretched, groaning at spending so long in the same position.

“Enough for today”, he said, standing up. “Let’s clean up our own mess and deal with this tomorrow.”

Harry nodded, rubbing his eyes. His head hurt from the hours of reading through books, some ancient and written so small he’d had to use a magnifying glass. With a swish of his wand, Sirius sent back all the books to their respective shelves in the Black library, that hadn’t been cleaned and sort through yet. He had wanted to get rid of all Dark Arts books, but Harry had persuaded him not to, and instead to thoroughly ward them off. “After all”, he’d said, “you never know when you might need to recognize one of them, especially in this house. Some of these books could even have the counter-spells. It would be a mistake to burn them all.”

Harry was glad to set his mind to something simpler – cooking. Gathering everything, he showed Sirius how to make lasagne, wondering if, maybe, Kreacher might cook for them if they were nice enough to him. The House-Elf was off his rocker, sure, and he despised them, sure, but if he’d spent so much time alone taking orders from Walburga’s portrait, it wasn’t surprising.

“Which room should I take?” Harry asked, digging in.  
“Whichever suits your fancy”, Sirius replied. “Moony should be dropping by tomorrow, around lunch. Might stay the night.”

Harry nodded, his eyes falling on the small door hiding Kreacher’s den. He knew, like all the others, that the House-Elf had been nicking stuff as they cleaned, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he might also know a lot more than them about the use and properties of whatever he’d taken. He let Sirius wash the dishes and opened one of the cabinets they’d already cleaned, finding a good plaid and taking it down to the kitchen.

“I’m borrowing this”, he said, grabbing Sirius’ wand. “I hope it’ll work nicely enough.”

He opened the den: Kreacher wasn’t there. It was foul, though – dirty, filled with rags and cluttered with an undefined mess. In what served as a nest, probably, Harry found a wizarding photo of Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. Shivering, he set it aside and sorted through the stuff Kreacher had accumulated. The locket they hadn’t managed to open and chucked was there. It felt cold and surprisingly heavy, and he was struck with the feeling that they shouldn’t have thrown it away. He managed to perform one spell that told him something not surprising: the locket reeked of Dark magic. Sighing, he painstakingly cast a few cleaning spells, throwing away the threadbare blanket and replacing it with the new, fluffy one under Sirius’ curious eye.

“What are you doing, Harry?”  
“Dumbledore said to be nice to Kreacher”, he replied. “And Hermione, with _spew_ … I don’t know, maybe they’re right, maybe they’re not. Kreacher could be useful. I want to try to be nice to him.”

Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Please, Sirius. Try to.”  
“You are awfully similar to your dad, you know that? James had these bouts of kindness that came out of nowhere for the most unusual persons. Usually, he managed to drag me into his antics as well, and that’s how we got Pettigrew.”

Harry flinched. So, what Sirius was saying – not so subtly – was that James’ kindness was what got him killed, and that he was walking down the same path. Sirius’ features smoothed into something gentler at his reaction.

“But that’s also how he got Lily”, he added. “I’ll try my best, Harry, but I can’t promise anything.”  
“It’s good enough if you try”, Harry grinned. “Kreacher!” he called.

It was no use, the House-Elf wouldn’t respond to him. Sirius sighed and called as well, and this time, Kreacher appeared.

“Tell me Kreacher”, Harry said, trying to use his gentlest voice, “this locket, who did it belong to?”

Seeing as Kreacher made no move to reply, Sirius added:

“Answer his questions, Kreacher. He’s trying to be nice.”  
“Kreacher has heard about Harry Potter being nice to House-Elves”, Kreacher croaked, “blood-traitor.” He shuddered, though, unable to resist the order. “Kreacher took back Master Regulus’ locket, Kreacher did wrong, _Kreacher failed Master Regulus_ ”, he ended on a wail under Sirius’ astonished gaze.

He jumped for the fire-poker, intending to strike himself with it, but Harry was quicker and managed to flatten him to the ground, effectively stopping him from punishing himself.

“Stay still, Kreacher”, Sirius ordered, visibly displeased.

The old House-Elf stopped struggling, tears gushing out of his eyes, and Harry pulled away. He looked so genuinely heart-broken, his affection for Regulus was real.

“You called the locket ‘Master Regulus’s”, Sirius said, “why? Where did it come from? What did my brother have to do with it? Kreacher, sit up and tell me everything you know about that locket, and everything Regulus had to do with it!”

The elf sat up, curled into a ball, place his wet face between his knees and began to rock back and forth. When he spoke, his voice was muffled but quite distinct in the silent, echoing kitchen.

“Master Sirius ran away, good riddance, for he was a bad boy and broke my Mistress’s heart with his lawless ways. But Master Regulus had proper pride; he knew what was due to the name of Black and the dignity of his pure-blood. For years he talked of the Dark Lord, who was going to bring the wizards out of hiding to rule the Muggles and the Muggle-borns… and when he was sixteen years old, Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord. So proud, so proud so happy to serve… And one day, a year after he had joined, Master Regulus came down to the kitchen to see Kreacher. Master Regulus always liked Kreacher. And Master Regulus said… he said…” the old elf rocked faster than ever: “he said that the Dark Lord required an elf.”  
“Voldemort needed an _elf?”_ Harry repeated, looking back at Sirius who seemed to be as puzzled as he was, and perhaps a bit paler.  
“Oh yes”, moaned Kreacher, “and Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher. It was an honour, said Master Regulus, an honour for him and for Kreacher, who must be sure to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do… and then to c-come home.” Kreacher still rocked faster, his breath coming in sobs. “So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord did not tell Kreacher what they were to do, but took Kreacher with him to a cave beside the sea. And beyond the cave there was a cavern, and in the cavern was a great black lake… There was a boat… T-There was a b-basin full of potion on the island. The Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it.” The Elf quaked from head to foot. “Kreacher drank, and as he drank, he saw terrible things… Kreacher’s insides burned… Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, he cried for his Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord laughed… He made Kreacher drink all the potion. He dropped a locket in the empty basin. He filled it with more potion. And then the Dark Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher on the island.”

Harry stared back at Sirius, wondering if he too looked like he might be sick from Kreacher’s terrible tale. He felt queasy just at the thought of what the poor creature had endured. Alas, Kreacher wasn’t done talking yet.

“Kreacher needed water, he crawled to the island’s edge and he drank from the black lake… and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface. Kreacher came home.”

Harry stared, puzzled at that development. Sirius caught his gaze.

“House-Elves have a different magic from wizards”, he explained in a low, dark voice. “Their master’s order is their highest law. He probably Disapparated, though I’d guess the place was warded against Apparition. Voldemort didn’t take that into account… I probably wouldn’t have either”, he added with something akin to regret in his voice. “So what happened when you got back? What did Master Regulus say when you told him what happened?”  
“Master Regulus was very worried, very worried”, croaked Kreacher. “Master Regulus told Kreacher to stay hidden and not to leave the house. And then… it was a little while later… Master Regulus came to find Kreacher in his cupboard one night, and Master Regulus was strange, not as he usually was, disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could tell… and he asked Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord…”

Sirius gave a pained whine, white as a sheet. Kreacher’s weeping answered him, and Harry started to dread what Kreacher might say. He wanted to curse himself for his idea.

“M-Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket like the one the Dark Lord had” said Kreacher, tears pouring down either side of his snoutlike nose, “and he told Kreacher to take it and, when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets…” Kreacher’s sobs came in great rasps now; and Harry had to concentrate hard to understand him. “And he ordered – Kreacher to leave – without him. And he told Kreacher – to go home – and never to tell my Mistress – what he had done – but to destroy – the first locket. And he drank – all the potion – and Kreacher swapped the lockets – and watched… as Master Regulus… was dragged beneath the water… and…”

Sirius collapsed with a wail, tears streaming down his face, his eyes haunted and full of sorrow. He gasped for breath, his chest heaving difficulty, and Harry stood there, not knowing what to do.

“Kreacher”, Sirius croaked, “you brought the locket home… did you try to destroy it?”

Harry stared at the cold, heavy gold locket in his hand. This thing was even more evil than he thought – belonging to Voldemort, having caused Regulus’s death, and bringing so much sorrow. He felt like chucking it against a wall and stomping all over it, but something told him it would do nothing.

“Nothing Kreacher did made any mark upon it”, moaned the elf. “Kreacher tried everything, everything he knew, but nothing, nothing would work… So many powerful spells on the casing, Kreacher was sure the way to destroy it was to get inside it, but it would not open… Kreacher punished himself, he tried again, he punished himself, he tried again. Kreacher failed to obey orders, Kreacher could not destroy the locket! And his Mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared, and Kreacher could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-f-forbidden him to tell any of the f-f-family what happened in the cave…”

Harry looked at Sirius, but he could guess the answer by himself: technically, he wasn’t family anymore – not since his mother had blasted him from the family tree. Sirius, however, stared at the House-Elf with an expression of shock Harry had never expected to see. It was like, for the first time, he realized Kreacher had feelings – feelings of love, hate, respect, affection. Feelings that echoed his own.

“I’m sorry you had to go through this, Kreacher, and I’m deeply sorry for Master Regulus", Harry said. "Now, if you will, I’d like to keep the locket, so we can end what Regulus started. We could find a way to destroy the locket.”

Kreacher managed a weak nod, and Harry gently picked him up and brought him back to his cupboard, wrapping him in the blanket.

“You did well”, he added with what he wanted to be a comforting smile.

He was still clutching the locket in his hand when he turned away to look at Sirius. He helped him up to one of the kitchen chairs, waiting for his godfather to come out of his silence. It took nearly an hour before Sirius gathered himself enough to talk.

“I… I will write to Dumbledore”, he said. “Perhaps he will know what to do.”

Harry nodded, and waited again. Tears poured again, silently, on Sirius’s cheeks, and his hands trembled slightly.

“I didn’t know he could be this brave”, he finally whispered. “I thought he was weak… I loved and despised him at the same time, you know. He was my brother and I’d always tried to protect him, but then he started to change and… and he became a Death Eater…” He muffled a sob. “He must have been so scared”, he rasped. “He was barely seventeen… Reggie…”

Harry slid a hand to him and squeezed his. He couldn’t even fathom how confused and pained Sirius might have been feeling. Regulus’s selfless courage, however, shook him deeply. He might have been a Slytherin, but on that night, he showed Gryffindor and Hufflepuff qualities to their best. It took some time more before Sirius had calmed down enough. He took the locket from Harry, weighing it in his palm, his jaw firmly set.

“I’ll keep it for safe-guarding. I… will send a message to Dumbledore, for him to come here, and I will go to sleep.”

He looked completely exhausted, and Harry stood up with him and hugged him tightly. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep like this – not with the way his skin was tingling from the deeply unsettling contact of the locket. Not with the horrific story of Regulus Black. He wandered upstairs, paused in front of Sirius’s room. There wasn’t a sound, but he wanted to give him some space. His gaze paused on the door opposite. Do Not Enter Without The Explicit Permission Of Regulus Arcturus Black. He tried to open it, but it was locked. Cursing his lack of wand once more, he went back to the room he’d shared with Ron. There, he curled up on his bed – and fell asleep without meaning to, tortured by nightmares of hands dragging him underwater and Voldemort’s cold laughter.

When he got up in the morning, Sirius was already up – he wasn’t in his bedroom anymore. Breakfast was waiting for him in the kitchen, and he stood there blinking for a moment, not sure whether he was dreaming or not. The room was spotless, the food appetizing, and Kreacher, when he appeared, was wearing a snowy-white towel, his ear-hair cleaned and fluffy.

“Master Sirius is in Master Orion’s office”, Kreacher said. “He has started taking off the charms to open the chest. He bids Master Harry to come after breakfast.”  
“A-Alright”, Harry answered, sitting down. “Thank you for the food”, he added as he looked at his breakfast, and the House-Elf beamed.

It was delicious, and once he’d wolfed down everything, he went to the study where Sirius would be waiting. His eyes were red-rimmed, but he looked determined.

“Harry”, he said with a smile. “You were right”, he said. “About Kreacher. I should have been nicer to him. I didn’t think… I didn’t think House-Elves had feelings like we do. For me, he was just my mum’s nasty pest.” He sighed heavily. “Well, I think we’ve sanitized the feelings between us. It should be for the best.”  
“Did Dumbledore answer you?” Harry asked, stepping closer. He knew all of it had been hard on Sirius, and was sure that now, his godfather needed a distraction.  
“Not yet”, Sirius said. “But you arrive on point, I’m about to lift the last spell on that damnable chest.”

He weaved his wand, and there was an audible click as the chest opened. Slowly, he pushed the lid back, and stared with his eyes wide at the contents. Harry quickly shuffled closer, gasping when he saw the sheer number of slim black boxes stacked there.

“All… All those wands”, Sirius muttered. He then noticed a small notebook with a red cover, snatched and opened it. “These are all wands from the Black family”, he added, as he read through the notebook. “One of my ancestors enchanted this chest so that when a family member dies, their wand is immediately called back here. This is old, powerful magic.”  
“How old are we talking?” Harry asked, peering into the chest.  
“Close to Hogwarts Founders’ era.”

Harry gaped at him.

“But… why? What did they intend to do with all those wands?”  
“I don’t know… the explanation is translated by my grand-father”, Sirius explained, showing the notebook, “but all further information is in some kind of very old dialect. It’ll take weeks, and someone very skilled, to translate it.” His eyes gleamed as he looked at his godson. “Wands, Harry! I’m sure there might have been a light wizard or two during all those years. Perhaps you can find one that’s good enough for you!”

Harry smiled. It was unexpected, and it would take some time to sort through all these wands, but damn if he wouldn’t do it. He grabbed the first box: the name of its owner was engraved in golden lettering on the casing, and he realized _all_ boxes were engraved with a name. He opened it and took the wand, giving it a wave – nothing. Putting it back in the box, he set it aside. Not this one. It didn’t matter, there was about a thousand still to try.

It took a long time – longer than at Ollivander’s, and Harry carefully stacked the boxes. The “no’s”, the “maybe’s”. So far, there were only three “maybe’s” – wands that reacted to him well enough, but not as perfectly as his own wand did. He still hadn’t found any that suited him perfectly, and he was starting to think he’d have to go once more through the “maybe’s” to find one suitable enough. Sirius cast a Tempus: it was nearly noon.

“Last one”, Harry said, grabbing the last box. _Please let this be the one._

It was twelve and a half inches long, made of cypress – just like Remus’s wand – and, from the information written inside the box’s lid, with a core of thestral tail hair. Harry felt a sudden warmth in his fingers, and brought it swishing down: gold and green fireworks shot down from it, and a huge grin split his face.

“This one!” he shouted, “this one is perfect, just like when I bought my own at Ollivander’s!”

Sirius grabbed the box, curious to see whose wand Harry would be using. His fingers trembled as he traced the gold lettering. _Regulus Arcturus Black_. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and looked at Harry, who was standing upright and magicking all the wands back into the chest, laughing and grinning at his retrieved power. He didn’t look much like Regulus – he was too much like his father for that – but there was something, in his stance, something, in the powerful spells shooting through the air, that reminded him of his brother.

“Harry? Sirius?” a voice said, and they turned to find Remus standing in the doorframe. “Kreacher told me you would be there…” His eyes widened. “You… You’ve found a wand…”  
“The wand chooses the wizard”, Sirius replied, getting up from where he’d been sitting on the floor.

For the first time in years, he was proud of his brother’s legacy.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, I hope you like it! Don't hesitate to comment, either here or on my tumblr, and let me know what you think!


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